First Flight and Spreading My Wings

Even at two o'clock on an August morning, the air was warm and humid. I loosened the knot on my tie and placed a carefully folded handkerchief between the back of my neck and the collar of the white polyester uniform shirt to prevent the perspiration from prematurely inducing a wet limpness to the fabric. The dark synthetic cloth of my trousers stuck uncomfortably to my legs. I paced the little garden of Rosy Apartments in slow measured steps, careful not to work up more sweat which might be misconstrued for nervousness as I waited for the crew transport vehicle to pick me up: I was about to undertake my very first flight as a trainee flight attendant, and I resolved to appear cool!

A dog barked desultorily a hundred yards away near Linking Road. North Avenue, where Rosy Apartments stood, was quiet except for the soft swishing of the fronds on the coconut trees. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of a rude diesel engine mounted on a van which rattled and shook as it bore down the street. I had been warned to watch out for what the Air India crew affectionately referred to as the "Dog Van"; in reality it was the crew pick up transport. It came to a screeching halt outside the gate, the engine shuddering in its idling state.

I grabbed the little briefcase issued to me by the company and stepped inside the dark interior. There were indistinct shapes inside. I mumbled a polite, generic Good Morning in the general direction of the shapes and sat down on the one spot that was vacant on the front bench seat. One of the shapes responded, while the others seemed to be fast asleep. I caught a whiff of "imported" after shave lotion in the air which confirmed my suspicions that the dudes in the indistinct shapes were really Flight Pursers in Air India! In 1977, the luxury of access to brand names like Armani or Chanel belonged only to the well heeled, those with the right connections, sailors frequenting far away ports like Singapore and crew flying with international airlines. Ah well, I comforted myself, I was taking my first step in that direction, even though my first flight was going to be just a turnaround to Doha.

At the Cabin Crew Movement Control Office at Santa Cruz airport, I introduced myself to the rest of the crew of the Boeing 707 flight that we were going to operate. My anxious nerves benefited greatly by the friendly welcome extended by my two trainers, George Taylor and Gieve Palkhivala. I shall always remember these two kind gentlemen for introducing me to the secret workings of the galley equipment and the challenge of getting along with the other crew members. After completing some paperwork, the crew passed through the Customs counters and walked nonchalantly to the aircraft parked some distance away on the tarmac. The ugly head of terrorism had not yet surfaced in air travel, apart from the occasional hijacking for various political reasons, and the manufacturers of X-Ray machines and metal detectors had yet to see a boom in sales. We ascended the shaky step ladder and entered the aircraft.

The steady whine of the aircraft engines as it taxied slowly to the east end of runway 27 reached a higher pitch as the pilot lined up the nose for take off. The whine changed to a fulsome roar, the fuselage trembled and shook, and suddenly the metal tube was hurtling down the runway, the thuds from the tyres coming rapidly as it accelerated and in a couple of seconds we were airborne, the runway lights receding rapidly under the wings. The aircraft climbed to cruise level and the noise abated to a steady purr. I was amazed at how stable and relatively quiet it had become in the cabin. The big oval dome light in the centre of the ceiling in the cabin glowed a soothing blue, the stars painted on it looked almost real as they became back lit. I had no time for stargazing, though. The No Smoking and Seat Belt signs went off and it was time for me to creep into the confines of the galley and begin my career!

First, I had to learn some sign language: as I passed by the partly curtained section of the Crew Rest area opposite the First Class galley, I heard a soft whisper. The Check Flight Purser whose face I could only partially see in the dim light had positioned one of the fingers of his right hand horizontally. This finger was supported vertically by another finger from his left hand. I was nonplussed. I ducked into the safe haven of the galley where a seasoned colleague was watching the dials on the oven. I told him what I had seen. He laughed. "He means he wants you to make him a cup of tea!", he explained; ah, the penny dropped: his two fingers had formed the letter T and I should have been savvy enough to interpret that. Charity begins at home, therefore service to your fellow crew always took priority!

And thus I embarked on the long and steep learning curve that is required in this profession. I learned the little time saving shortcuts in preparing the food trolleys before they were rolled out into the First Class cabin by the Air Hostess and the Flight Purser. I learned how to anticipate their requirements. I learned to ensure that the recalcitrant ovens performed to heat the food casseroles to the right temperature and the Veuve Clicquot champagne was appropriately chilled in the drawer of ice. I learned that the tiny paper cups used to dispense water and juice to the passengers were called "lily cups" and I never found out why. I learned how to keep my ears tuned to catch the chime of  the attendant call from the cockpit. I learned not to panic when I saw the navigator stand up on his seat and poke the sextant through the roof! I also experienced the pain and discomfort of going to work at ungodly hours, the strain of jet lag and keeping irregular hours and the gnawing uncertainty while on standby duties. My new colleagues were a wonderful assortment of personalities who came from disparate backgrounds and each one of them taught me something new about human nature. Like any other workplace, they could be classified into The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly (as in Temperament!).

Manhattan from the top of the Empire State Building. Nov 1979.

Slaving away in the cramped galleys of the Boeing 707s, I had little to do in dealing with passengers. That dubious privilege was the domain of the Air Hostess and the Flight Purser! There was a clear demarcation of functions of the Assistant Flight Purser (hapless me), the Flight Purser, and the Air Hostess. Air India even had manuals printed defining the exact duties of each category of flight attendant. Thus, for 10 years I was spared the anguish of dealing first hand with troublesome passengers (believe me, there was no shortage of them!). It took me ten years to be promoted to Flight Purser. The Flight Purser and the Air Hostess comprised the infantry : they were the first to take on the flak - the real, faked or imagined problems that passengers in the cabin faced; but more of that in a separate episode. Fortunately, that was in the future.....meanwhile, time flew past, and each flight was an exciting adventure to a new city, to new discoveries, to new experiences....

Times Square, New York. The  Evita and Aiwa ads are clues as to how dated this picture is!

Geography had always been a favourite subject of mine and I had dreamt of some day seeing as much of India as possible; but it had never occurred to me  that I would be able to travel beyond its borders, and that too for free! Air India changed all that. Some of my Mumbai friends began to joke that I was now commuting as much to London as they were to Ghatkopar! Within the first five years I had covered some exciting ground : Tokyo, Singapore, Hong Kong, Perth, Sydney, Nairobi, Accra, Lagos, Harare, Moscow, Teheran, Cairo, Rome, Frankfurt, London, New York, Montreal, Amsterdam....and even more exciting destinations were in the offing.

Spontaneous dancing breaks out in a Tokyo park during the Cherry Blossom Festival

Downtown Tokyo

St.Peter's Square, The Vatican, Rome. The blue spots are not divine luminiscence...merely blemishes on an old photo!

The saints go marching on the roof of St.Peter's, Rome.

Geography, though, proved to be a relatively simple matter when you are hurtling through the air at 500 miles an hour. The more serious challenge was to navigate through a series of Trainee flights, then fly "solo" for three months and be subjected to a Pre-Confirmation Check (PCC). Three months later, one had to clear the Confirmation Check (CC) hurdle.

Understandably, I was not amused when the Senior Check Flight Purser, in his infinite wisdom, put down this comment on my PCC report : "He tends to sweat a lot"!! I could have argued that it was natural for the pores of your skin to excrete cooling fluids when you are cossetted in wholly inappropriate synthetic fabrics and executing Houdini-like gyrations in the limited space of the 707 galley and being periodically buffeted by the hot air emissions escaping from the ovens. I could not really see the relationship to the quality of my work....

Notwithstanding my propensity to perspire, I did eventually pass my Confirmation Check! I hoped that the rest of my career would be as effortless as cruising down the Rhine on a boat....

The Rhine, Germany

A crooner on a Rhine cruise...